Foundlings
by Heartspath
Summary: When Companions Jergen and Kodlak were sent to kill the leader of a necromancy cult, they did not expect to find a sacrifice in progress. The discovery and resulting rescue mission eventually lead Jergen to make a life-changing decision. Set approximately thirty years before the events of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
1. Chapter 1: Rescue

**Chapter 1** **: Rescue**

A/N: Trigger warning for aftermath of child abuse and torture. All characters are either property of or inspired by Bethesda.

* * *

20th of Evening Star, 4E 171

Jergen and his shield-brother Kodlak stalked down the hallway towards a large chamber. Clearing the cave system of necromancers had been a long and hard battle, but they were finally nearing the end and their goal - the cult's leader.

They heard a man's harsh command echo throughout the chamber. "Go eliminate the intruders! The sacrifice _must_ be completed!"

The two Companions looked at each other in alarm. They had not expected the necromancers to have prisoners, much less be in the middle of a sacrifice. The mission to kill the cult's leader had now become a rescue mission.

The two warriors quickly moved to opposite walls as a spellcaster in black robes ran into the hallway, his hands glowing with bluish-white magic. The mage launched an spike of ice at each, but only the one aimed at Kodlak connected. The one directed towards Jergen narrowly missed him, taking a chunk out of the wall instead. Trusting that Kodlak could take the hit, Jergen took the opportunity to charge. With a loud battle cry, Jergen swung his greatsword into the spellcaster's legs, bringing him to the ground. A quick thrust and the mage was dead.

Jergen moved back to Kodlak, keeping an eye on the doorway. He could hear the same voice from before, now chanting unfamiliar words that raised his hackles. Kodlak had dropped his pack and was holding the ice spike embedded in his shoulder, his teeth gritted in a grimace of pain.

Jergen put down his sword and grabbed the spike in one hand, the other resting on Kodlak's injured shoulder. "Tell me when you're prepared."

Kodlak nodded, then let out a muffled shout as Jergen pulled the spike from the whelp's shoulder. Jergen began to examine the wound, but some of the hair that had pulled free of his brown ponytail fell into his face. He quickly tucked it behind his ears to get a better view.

"It's a clean puncture; no bone," he told Kodlak. "Drink a healing potion and let the wound close. Join me as soon as you can." He picked his sword up again and headed back to the large chamber's entrance.

The chamber was empty, and there were too many openings to check quickly. Jergen struck the hilt of his sword against the wall, and the clang reverberated throughout the room. "Come out and fight like a man, you milk drinker!" he challenged. "Or must all your lackeys do your fighting for you?"

The chanting stopped with a curse and a quick murmur of words Jergen could not make out. Moments later, another black-robed mage charged into the chamber from an open doorway. His entire body glowed greenish-blue with some kind of protective spell, and a snarl curled his lips as he glared at the Companion.

"How dare you interrupt my sacrifice! Molag Bal will NOT be denied his offering!" the warlock bellowed as a icy cloud burst forth from his fingers and spread, freezing everything its vapors touched.

Jergen became a moving target, staggering when the cloud brushed him. Thankfully, his wolf armor protected him from the worst of the spell.

He regained his footing and charged the necromancer, needing to close the distance before the magic user could summon a creature - alive or dead - to help him fight. The warlock cast a ward as Jergen swung, and his greatsword hit it with enough force to make the mage stumble backwards. Jergen pressed his advantage and circled the mage, landing more strikes to break the protective spell and keep the warlock's attention on him.

The necromancer caught him squarely with another icy blast from his hand, and the cold began to slow and weaken Jergen's strikes. Frost lined the edges of his short beard and the joints in his armor began to freeze.

"You fight well," the mage complemented with a sadistic grin as he continued the barrage. "Perhaps when Molag Bal grants me the power, you can become my first undead guardian." Jergen saw the mage's other hand lift, bluish-white light building...

Kodlak's greatsword hit the spellcaster in the back, disrupting his spells. The warlock turned to focus on his new assailant, giving Jergen a chance to shake off his ice and stiffness. The two warriors rained strikes down upon the mage, not giving him a chance to cast again. Jergen gave a final swing to separate the necromancer's head from his shoulders, and the lifeless body dropped to the floor.

Both Companions bent over, leaning on their weapons to catch their breath. Both were no longer young men, Kodlak firmly into his third decade (though his white hair made him look older) and Jergen into his fourth. However, years of combat had made each quite hale for his age.

Jergen left Kodlak to check the rest of the chamber as he approached the opening where the mage had emerged. The blessings of the Circle allowed him to detect the overwhelming scent of blood and fresh ash, but he wished he had the sharpened hearing of the other members. Then he might be able to hear movement or even more importantly, a heartbeat.

Hoping they were not too late, Jergen cautiously raised his sword and stepped into the room.

The first thing Jergen saw was the blood-drenched altar in the center of the room. On the altar, a small boy's bloody and unmoving body was partially buried by a pile of ash spilling onto the floor. Ornate patterns had been carved into the flesh of the pale and naked form. Some of the wounds looked fresh, but they blended into others that were older. The sacrifice had to have been going on for hours. There was no point in even checking the body; a child could not have survived losing that much blood.

"Mara have mercy," he whispered, feeling sick to his stomach. The bastards had died too quickly if they would kill a child like this.

A small whimper and movement nearby drew his attention to a hanging cage partially hidden in shadow. Inside he could see another small boy, probably the same age as the one on the altar. He had dark greasy hair hanging in his face and filth covering most of his body. Like the other boy, his captors hadn't even given him the dignity of clothing.

Jergen ran back into the other chamber. "Kodlak, check for a cage key. There's a prisoner in here. A child."

"Divines… what about the sacrifice?" Kodlak gasped.

Jergen shook his head sadly. "We were not fast enough."

Kodlak cursed quietly and began to search the robes of the dead conjurer.

Jergen sheathed his sword, then went back into the room. The boy was clinging to the bars of the cage, staring at the gruesome sight in front of him. Jergen walked toward the cage, slowing his approach when the child flinched.

"It's all right, pup. I'm not going to hurt you," he softly assured the youth, raising his hands to show he held no weapons. The lad's tear-filled eyes widened and he scrabbled backwards, making the cage rock as he pressed himself against the other side.

Jergen stopped where he was, not wanting to scare the child further, and began to assess his condition as he slowly removed his pack. The boy looked half-starved and pale. He could see bruises peeking out from under the filth, and his breaths were shallow and raspy.

"The ones who did this are dead. Once my friend finds the key, we'll get you out of that cage." Jergen found a shirt in his pack and pulled it out. He slowly approached the cage again, offering the shirt to the youth. "Take this. You need to get covered up."

The lad said nothing, instead turning to look at the altar once more. Jergen saw the boy's lip tremble.

"What's your name, son?" he asked, trying to distract the child from the grisly sight.

The boy's eyes darted to Jergen for a moment. He took a breath to speak, but barely got a sound out before he was interrupted by a bout of wet-sounding coughs. Pain crossed his face as he rubbed his throat and whimpered again.

Jergen tossed the shirt over his shoulder. He unstrapped his waterskin and offered it to the child, who looked at it with a puzzled expression. Jergen took a drink from it and offered it again. The boy carefully took the water skin and mimicked Jergen, surprised when water squirted out. He gulped down several swallows before Jergen took it back.

"Careful now, we don't want to make your stomach sick as well. Take it slow." He watched the lad's attention return to the altar and silently cursed Kodlak for taking so long. He needed to get this boy away from here.

"Hep bwuddah?" the boy whispered.

Jergen blinked. "I'm sorry pup, I don't understand…"

The youth pointed at the altar. Pain and concentration creased the boy's face as he spoke louder. "Help... brudda—" He curled up as another coughing fit racked his body.

Jergen paused, trying to find the right words. How did you tell a child that his brother was dead?

Then he heard a quiet noise, somewhere between a cough and a choke, from behind him. He spun, reaching for his sword, but no one was there.

Only the boy on the altar.

 _No. He couldn't still be…_ The thought flashed through his mind, but he had to know for sure.

Jergen moved quickly towards the altar, removing one of his gauntlets. He bent over and brushed ash away from the child's nose and mouth. Then he put his hand in front of the boy's face, hoping for a sign of life.

He felt a breath. Barely, but it was there.

"KODLAK!" he yelled. "Forget the key and get in here! The sacrifice is still alive!" Jergen grabbed his last healing potion out of his pack and pulled the cork, throwing it to the side. He slid a hand under the boy's neck to lift his body slightly, and dribbled a little of the red potion into his mouth. Then he put the bottle down and began stroking the child's throat.

"Come on pup, swallow," he encouraged. "Stay with us. Don't leave your brother yet."

He heard Kodlak's footsteps rapidly approaching the door. He glanced up as Kodlak surveyed the room in shock.

"The one in the cage is sick. Give him a cure disease potion if you have one, or a stamina potion if you don't," Jergen barked, still focused on the boy. "I'll have my hands full with this one."

"Jergen," Kodlak began sadly, "I don't believe that one will —"

"I don't have the time or patience to argue with you, whelp," Jergen snarled, his lips curling back just enough to expose gritted teeth. His silver eyes burned with anger into Kodlak's brown ones. "Either you do what you're told or look for a safe way out. I have to make sure the boy drinks this without choking on it, and that's damned hard when he's not awake."

Kodlak's eyes widened, and he unknowingly took a step back. "Aye, Jergen," he mumbled as he opened his pack and pulled a green stamina potion out.

Jergen took a deep breath to calm himself, and returned his attention to his patient. He tuned out everything else and concentrated on gently massaging the boy's throat. Kodlak might be right about the child's chances, but Jergen was not about to let him die if he had a chance of preventing it.

Finally he felt the movement of a swallow under his fingers and saw a faint swirl of healing energies glimmer briefly around the lad before flickering back out. "Good job," he murmured as he reached for the potion bottle. "Now let's do that again."

* * *

The boy on the altar managed to drink the last two swallows of the potion on his own, and briefly opened pale blue eyes glazed in agony before drifting away again. Jergen carefully lowered the child back down, watching the last of the golden light from the potion fade. He took comfort that his patient's breathing was deeper and some of the wounds had closed, but the youth still needed more healing.

He looked up to see Kodlak re-entering the room from another door, his arms full of robes and cloth.

"Any healing potions left in your pack?" he asked Kodlak. When Kodlak shook his head, Jergen cursed. "We'll need to get him to the nearest temple right away."

"The other as well," Kodlak responded. "He has a fever and is unable to stand on his own. He's not said a word since I released him from the cage."

He gestured to the other child, who was huddled in a corner shivering. The shirt Jergen had tried to give him earlier covered him like an oversized tunic, and he had tried to get as much of his body inside of it as possible.

Kodlak knelt down near the boy and dropped his bundle. He pulled one of the robes and began wrapping the lad up for warmth.

"I take it there were no furs," Jergen commented.

"No," Kodlak responded. "These were the best I could find."

Jergen grumbled as he began to clear as much ash off the brother as possible. He thought he saw bruises around the child's throat and on his limbs, but the ash made it hard to tell for certain in the low light. At least there were no broken bones to set.

The warrior reached once again for his pack. He would need to bandage the worst of the wounds before he could bundle the pup for travel.

* * *

Each warrior carried one of the boys as Kodlak led the way towards the exit. They had not gone far from the sacrifice chamber before Jergen's nose caught more foul smells - excrement, vomit, and other odors he didn't care to identify. The stench grew in intensity to the point that Jergen had to breathe through his mouth.

He was nearly gagging by the time they reached a small cavern containing two large rusted iron cages. The straw covering the floor of the cages was contaminated with various kinds of bodily filth and dried blood. Each contained bowls with scum-covered water and rotten food that was no longer identifiable.

Jergen turned to the sickly boy in Kodlak's arms. "This is where you were kept?" he asked.

The boy nodded and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.

Judging from the condition of the cages, it was a wonder to Jergen that the brothers were still alive at all. The blood was thickest where the cages were closest, as if the brothers had tried to reach each other for comfort after their captors had abused them. The cages were just far enough apart that they would not have been able to touch, no matter how much they stretched.

The warrior felt his chest tighten as the urge to rip someone apart for this crime raged inside him. "I want oil and torches, Kodlak. I want to burn this place down to the _stone_ ," he snarled.

"As do I." Jergen could hear the restraint in Kodlak's tone. "But that will not help the children. Not right now, at least."

Jergen hated to admit it, but Kodlak was right. Tearing his way through the cave system was tempting, but it would also delay the lads getting the care they needed.

He forced the anger aside and focused on moving towards the exit as quickly as possible, keeping a firm grip on the boy in his arms.

* * *

Darkness had fallen by the time the group made it out. It had just begun to snow, and they hurried to where their horses were tied.

Soon the two had managed to mount their horses, each still holding their precious cargo. They began the ride back to Whiterun, urging as much speed from the horses as they could manage. Time was of the essence for both the brothers.


	2. Chapter 2: Arrival

**Chapter 2: Arrival**

It was after midnight by the time they reached sight of Whiterun and the snow was falling faster. The warriors raised a call for assistance as soon as they could see the stables, and did not slow until they entered the yard. The stable hands stumbled out groggily to take the horses' reins and help the men down from their mounts.

One of the nearby guards volunteered to run ahead to the Temple of Kynareth to wake the healers, which Jergen gratefully accepted. By the time the Companions made it through the front gates, they could see the guard running back with one of the brown-robed priests in tow.

As they came closer, Jergen recognized Brother Gustav Ice-Wind, the head of the temple. He called out, "We have two children - one sick, one injured. We did what we could."

Kodlak reached Brother Gustav first, and the priest pulled coverings away from the sickly boy's face. The boy flinched as the cold air hit his face and he cracked open an eye. When he saw the man in robes looking back at him, he let out a scream and fought against his coverings, causing Kodlak to nearly drop him.

Brother Gustav held up a glowing hand, and a green light drifted from it to surround the boy. The child stopped struggling, sagging back into Kodlak's arms. His eyes closed once more.

"Thank the gods, the lad's a fierce one," Kodlak sighed in relief. "I didn't know you priests could cast sleeping spells."

"It was a Calm spell," Gustav corrected. "Where did you find them?"

"Prisoners of necromancers."

Brother Gustav shut his eyes in a grimace. "Kynareth guide us," he murmured. He turned to Jergen. "If they fear mages, they will not be calm at the temple. It would be best if I tend to them at Jorrvaskr instead. "

Jergen hesitated, not sure how the other warriors would react to having children in their midst. Then he looked down at the unconscious child in his arms.

"Aye. We'll meet you there," he agreed.

* * *

Jergen had never been so thankful to see Tilma as he was that night. The slim woman with graying blonde hair stopped clearing the main table as soon as the two came through the doors and rushed over to them.

The situation was quickly explained, and Tilma hurried off to get the needed supplies. The boys were taken downstairs to the Circle's living quarters. The injured one was placed in Jergen's bed, and Kodlak carried the other to the room across the hall.

Jergen began unwrapping the injured boy's coverings as Tilma brought in warm water, herbs, and cloths. Some of the wounds had reopened on the ride, and he cringed at the blood on the bandages. The lad had lost so much blood already; he wasn't sure how much more the child could stand. Some of his pale skin was beginning to take on a blue tinge.

"The poor dear," Tilma crooned. "He can't be even four years old." She pushed a small serving tray filled with various items into Jergen's hands. "I'll tend to this one's wounds. You go take care of the other one."

Jergen shook his head. "Kodlak has it well in hand."

"Yes, but Kodlak doesn't have certain... _resistances_ that Circle members have." Tilma pointed out each item on the tray as she gently guided him towards the door. "Two cure disease potions - one for Kodlak, one for the boy. Here's a sleeping draught for the boy as well."

"And the bowl?" Jergen asked.

"Honey. Helps offset the taste. Only a little at a time, though. Use the spoons." She gently pushed Jergen out of the room and closed the door.

Jergen shook his head and chuckled. _Only Tilma could get away with that,_ he thought.

"Jergen," a deep voice stated from the darkness nearby.

All the amusement Jergen had been feeling drained out of him as he recognized Askar's voice. He turned towards the large bear of a man approaching him. Askar was wearing only cloth breeches, and scars of large claw marks crossed his chest. His messy red hair and bushy beard partially hid his face, but not enough to hide his scowl.

Jergen nodded respectfully. "Harbinger," he greeted. "I was hoping we wouldn't wake you."

"You did." His eyes narrowed at the tray in Jergen's hands. "You're entertaining, I see."

Before Jergen could reply, a muffled shout was heard and the spare room's door burst open. A small form shot out and collided with the Harbinger's legs. Kodlak appeared in the doorway as the child scrambled back to his feet and tried to escape down the hallway.

Askar managed to catch the boy within a few steps and grabbed him by the tunic. The child yelled "Fakas!" as Askar lifted him off the ground and twisted the fabric, preventing the lad from slipping out of his only covering. The boy snarled and began swinging his arms and legs wildly.

Jergen quickly pushed the tray into Kodlak's hands and pointed out which potion to take. He then hurried over to Askar, who seemed to be studying his quarry with a predatory eye.

The child's earlier snarl had become coughing again, but his struggles didn't diminish.

Askar glared at Jergen. "Yours?" he growled. "Swears like you."

Jergen ignored the comment and put himself face-to-face with the boy. "Calm down, son," he tried to assure him. "No one's going to hurt you."

"Liah," the boy spat. "Want mah bwuddah!" He kicked his foot in Jergen's direction.

 _Of course he wants his brother._ "Your brother needs healing. He can't see anyone right now other than the healer," Jergen told the boy firmly.

The boy screeched and tried to hit Jergen. Jergen caught the boy's arm and held it firmly. When the child threw another punch, he caught that arm as well and forced the boy to look at him.

"You're sick," Jergen stated slowly, trying to get the child to see reason. "If you see your brother now, you will make him sick too. Do you want to make your brother sick?"

The boy stopped fighting and his pale blue eyes glared at Jergen. His lips pressed together briefly to suppress a cough, then his brow furrowed further. "Want. See. Brudder."

"I can show you where your brother is." Jergen saw Askar's jaw twitch, and the danger in his eyes was more evident. He needed to get him away _now_. "If you take the medicine I was bringing you, you can get well enough to visit him."

"Show me brudder."

Askar suddenly snarled, "Need a drink." He shoved the lad in Jergen's direction, barely allowing Jergen enough time to change his grip before releasing the boy's tunic. The child quickly clambered for a grip of his own to avoid dropping to the ground.

Askar then turned to Kodlak, who was watching the exchange with an empty potion bottle still in his hand. "Upstairs. _You_ explain why Jorrvaskr's a nursery."

Kodlak nodded. "Of course, Harbinger."

Askar stomped towards the door leading upstairs, pausing just long enough to bark "Go to bed" at the whelps peeking out of their quarters. Kodlak followed close on his heels.

Once Askar was gone, Jergen let the boy's grip guide him into a more comfortable position, sliding an arm under him to support his weight. He could feel the child's heart thumping wildly, though the gritted teeth and defiant glare towards the doors betrayed none of his fear.

 _The boy has spirit,_ Jergen thought.

"We put your brother into my room," Jergen told him gently as he carried him back down the hallway. "We wanted to give him a quiet place to sleep that wouldn't be far from you."

He felt the boy's heartbeat slow slightly, but not much. _I'll have to prove it, then._

He walked to his room's door and knocked. The boy twitched as he held back more coughs. Jergen was surprised the lad was doing so well considering the state he'd been in on arrival. Now that he was looking, the boy _did_ seem to have less bruises than before...

The smell of warm herbs drifted out as Tilma opened the door a crack. She raised an eyebrow.

"Hello, Tilma. I have someone here who needs to see his brother." He gestured his head towards the boy in his arms.

Tilma's eyes narrowed. "You know he can't come in —"

"I've explained that to him," Jergen interrupted smoothly. "He needs proof that his brother is with us." He raised his eyebrows at Tilma, almost willing her to humor him.

Tilma seemed to get the hint. "All right." She pulled the door open enough that both could see the other boy laying on Jergen's bed.

A fur blanket covered everything below his waist, and his exposed body was now mostly cleansed of blood and ash. Some of the ash had settled into streaks through his hair and around his eyes, making him look like he was wearing war paint. He was still very pale and bruised, but had regained a little of his proper color - probably from the herbal poultices covering his reopened wounds.

"Fakas," the boy in Jergen's arms sighed in relief. He leaned against Jergen tiredly, as if the fight had gone out of him.

Jergen suspected the child was not swearing after all. "Fakas?" he asked.

"Bwuddah. Fark—" His nose wrinkled as he tried to enunciate, but was cut off as the coughs got the best of him again. He buried his face into Jergen's shoulder and tried to catch his breath.

Jergen concentrated, putting together the syllables. "Farkas." The boy nodded. "That's your brother's name?" The boy nodded again.

Tilma pulled the furs up to tuck in Farkas and picked up the bowl she'd brought in earlier, now full of blackish-brown water and dirty rags. "I'll be back shortly with fresh water. Do you think you two can keep an ear out in case he wakes up while I'm gone?" she asked in a kind voice.

Jergen sent Tilma a thankful look. "I think we can do that. We'll leave the doors open while this one drinks his medicines."

Tilma smiled at Jergen, then headed towards the stairs as Jergen carried the lad across the hall. Jergen spotted the tray of potions sitting on the bar, then noticed an empty healing potion bottle nearby as he set the child on the bed.

 _So that's how he recovered so quickly. Too bad it doesn't last if you don't cure the cause._

He picked up the tray and moved it to the table nearest the bed, keeping an eye on the boy. There was no attempt to run this time, but the lad kept his eyes towards the doors.

Jergen uncorked the cure disease potion. He worried for a moment about how much to give, but the bottle was only partially full. Tilma must have measured it already.

"All right, lad. First medicine." He handed the bottle to the child.

The boy took a drink and promptly spit it out. He made a gagging noise, sticking out his tongue as if to rid it of the taste.

"I know, tastes terrible." Tilma did her best to keep their potions palatable, but some types of potions were simply beyond help. He spooned up some honey and handed the spoon to the boy, taking the bottle back. "This helps."

The child looked at Jergen suspiciously as he took the spoon, but gave it a tentative lick. An expression of surprise and delight crossed the boy's face, and the child stuffed the spoon in his mouth.

"So we know your brother's name now. What's yours?" Jergen asked.

"Riiraas," the boy mumbled around the spoon.

Jergen sighed. "Tell me again without the spoon in your mouth."

The boy removed the spoon. "Vi… ill… kas." The spoon went back in.

Jergen repeated the name, watching his reaction. "Vi-ilkas." Nothing. "Vilkas?" The boy nodded. "Vilkas. I'll need the spoon back if you want more."

Vilkas reluctantly handed the spoon back. Jergen held out the bottle. "And you need to take another drink." Vilkas's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I know, but the medicine does no good if you don't swallow it. And the honey should help."

Vilkas gave Jergen a dirty look, but took the bottle. He glared at the bottle, then took a quick swallow. Then he shoved the bottle back at Jergen, making the same face as he had on his last sample. Instead of gagging, however, he made an "ugck" sound. Then he tensed as faint blue light briefly swirled around him.

"Well done," Jergen congratulated Vilkas as he handed over another spoonful of honey. Vilkas snatched the spoon from Jergen and refused to hand it back until it had been sucked clean.

As Jergen prepared Vilkas for another dose, he heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. He got up to look and saw Tilma entering Jergen's room with fresh supplies. Brother Gustav was behind her, dressed in a belted tunic and trousers instead of his normal robes. He quickly nodded to Jergen before he entered the other room behind Tilma, closing the door behind him.

"Good, Tilma's back," Jergen said to Vilkas. He began to close the door, but Vilkas gave a cry of alarm. "What's wrong, pup?"

"Open," Vilkas said. He pulled his knees to his chest, all pretense at bravery gone.

Jergen paused, concerned. He knew Gustav would be casting healing spells on Farkas, and couldn't risk Vilkas hearing the chimes of magic and panicking again. But if closing the door would make the boy feel trapped and he would panic anyway…

"You don't want it closed?" Vilkas shook his head. "Then it won't be closed." Jergen pulled the door mostly shut, but left a visible gap between the door and the frame. "Does that suit you?"

Vilkas looked with concern at the door, but slowly uncurled as Jergen returned to his seat. He took the next dose with the same reactions as the last, and continued watching the door as he cleaned the spoon of honey once again.

"Nearly done. One more swallow, then we go to the other medicine." Jergen knew the healer had to have started casting his spells by now, but heard no faint chimes of healing magic.

 _The sound must not carry through the doors. Thank the gods._

Vilkas began coughing again. This sounded different, though; there was more force behind it, as if it had caught onto something. Jergen quickly grabbed a nearby pot and encouraged Vilkas to cough into it. Two good-sized spits later, Vilkas was able to take a deep breath with only a slight rattle.

"See? It's already working," he encouraged as he put the pot back down. He gave Vilkas the last of the potion and another spoonful of honey.

"Now, the final medicine. Looks like there's only one swallow of this." He looked at the bowl, and noted the small amount of honey left. "After you're done with this, you can have the rest of the bowl."

Vilkas's face lit up, then darkened again. "Fakas…" he said with concern.

Jergen smiled encouragingly and uncorked the sleeping draught vial. "I'm sure he'll get his own bowl of honey when he wakes up." He handed the vial to Vilkas, who quickly drank it down.

"Can you tell me about your parents? Your father and mother?" Jergen asked as he traded the empty vial for the honey bowl.

Vilkas winced slightly. "No papa. Mama dust." He ignored the spoon, scooping up the honey with his fingers instead.

Jergen cringed. "Wait." He reached over to the wash basin and grabbed a washcloth. "It won't taste good if your hands aren't clean." Vilkas grumbled, but allowed Jergen to wash his hand. Once it was clean, he dug into the bowl again while Jergen washed the other.

"So no papa. Is your mother dead?" Jergen asked.

"Mama…" Vilkas shuddered and shrank into himself. "Mama dust."

Jergen decided not to push the issue. "Do you know your mother's name?" he asked.

Vilkas nodded, sucking on his fingers.

"What is it?"

"Mama."

Jergen tried not to growl in frustration. "What did other grown-ups call her? Did anyone else live with you?"

Vilkas shook his head. "Just me, Fakas, an Mama." He blinked sleepily.

"You never heard her called by another name?"

Vilkas shook his head again and let out a large yawn. He tried to rub his eyes and smeared more honey onto his face.

Jergen sighed and got up to rinse out the washcloth. By the time he'd massaged the honey off of one hand, the boy had fallen asleep with the honey bowl still cradled in his other arm.

Tilma showed up at the door a few moments later. "Didn't I tell you a little at a time?" Tilma scolded, inspecting the sticky mess Vilkas had become. "Now the boy will need a bath."

Jergen shrugged. "He needed one anyway."

"Yes, but…" Tilma sighed. "I suppose it's for the best. Askar is still upstairs, and you know he is _not_ a patient man."

"Aye, Tilma." Jergen handed the washcloth to Tilma and headed upstairs.

* * *

He found the Harbinger sitting at the main table nursing a bottle of mead. He grabbed a bottle of his own and sat down next to him.

"Some warning would have been preferred," Askar admonished.

"It wasn't the original plan," Jergen explained. "We were going to take them to the temple —"

"I know. Kodlak told me. I sent him to get some rest." Askar took another drink. "Bringing two pups here without warning wasn't wise, Jergen. Especially when they smell like wounded wild animals with hearts racing in fear…" He blew out a shaky breath and rubbed his face. "I need a good hunt."

"We all do. We haven't had one since Kjalarr died." Jergen sighed sadly. "The Circle isn't the same without him."

"Speaking of that… the other goal of the mission?" Askar inquired.

"Kodlak argued with me once when we found the boys. Other than that, he followed orders, had my back throughout the mission, and fought well. He has my approval to join the Circle. Has Brynja returned from her mission with Torvald?"

Askar snorted. "Aye, she did. Said if Torvald is allowed to join the Circle, she quits."

"It went that badly?"

"He kept calling her 'woman.' You know how well she reacts to that," Askar grumbled. "He refused to follow orders and kept leaving her to fend for herself. She was in such a foul mood I allowed her time to go see her family so she could calm down." Askar gave Jergen a glare. "Good thing, too. She wouldn't have reacted well to being awakened in the wee hours by a child screaming, mother or no."

"She's not a good woman to make angry, as I'm sure Torvald found out. So if Brynja agrees to Kodlak —"

"She already has. I want to induct him as soon as she gets back. You can be his forebear."

Jergen's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I'm honored, Harbinger, but… you don't wish to wait until Mid Year?"

"No. We're the Circle, not the Triangle. Hircine will understand." Askar took another drink. "When we find another suitable whelp for the Circle, we'll do the ceremony on the proper day."

"That may be quite a while," Jergen replied.

The Harbinger shrugged. "So be it."

Both immediately went quiet as the door to the living quarters opened and footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. Brother Gustav climbed up to the main floor and headed over to the two Companions, exhaustion clear in his eyes.

"So how do they fare?" Jergen asked expectantly.

The head priest sat down with a heavy sigh. "Better, at least." He rubbed his face tiredly. "The ill one had the beginnings of a lung infection —"

"Vilkas," Jergen supplied. The other two looked at him quizzically. "His name is Vilkas."

Brother Gustav nodded in acknowledgement. "...but the potion seems to have eliminated most of it. He will need some time for his body to recover, but he should pull through." He took a deep breath. "His brother, on the other hand…"

"Farkas," Jergen said, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach.

"Farkas… the boy is tough. Most of his wounds were shallow; the person obviously wanted him to die slowly and painfully. But the amount of blood he lost… it is only by the grace of the Divines he is still alive."

Askar clapped Jergen on the back. "Jergen's the best at field medicine we have. The boy's lucky he found him."

Jergen took in the priest's somber expression. "Will he recover?" he asked.

"I do not know. We do not know how long he has been… that much blood lost for that long…"

"You fear damage to his brain," Jergen surmised.

"Aye. He could wake with no damage, or he may have to relearn things he once knew. Or he may never be able to relearn them, or anything else for that matter. We will not know until he wakes." Brother Gustav paused. "If he wakes at all."

"I see." Askar rose. "That will make it harder to find a family that can care for them until their kin can be found."

"That… is the other thing I wished to discuss," Gustav stated hesitantly. "With what they have been through… their minds will take longer to recover than their bodies. It would be best if things remained as stable as possible for them."

Askar raised an eyebrow. "Meaning…?"

"I believe they should stay here for the time being. They know the men who rescued them —"

"You're saying that these children would be better off in a _warriors' mead hall_ than with a _family_ or in a _temple_?" Askar asked in disbelief.

"If it means faces they know and places they will recognize as safe, yes. They will need the reminders when they wake from nightmares or see things that cause bad memories. I know it is not ideal —"

"Damn right it's not —" Askar snarled.

"Perhaps" - Jergen raised his hands to get both men's attention - "it would be best to discuss this in the morning." Jergen gave a meaningful look at the Harbinger, then turned his attention back to the priest. "Well, later in the morning at least. We all need our rest."

The priest nodded and stood. "I will send Acolyte Danica to check on the boys in a few hours. She has a gift for the Restorative arts, magical and otherwise. Perhaps she will bear better news." Despite his words, Gustav's expression was not hopeful.

"We understand. Thank you for your help, Brother Gustav." Jergen clasped the man's arm in gratitude, then showed him out.

Jergen had no sooner closed the door when Askar growled, "We cannot have them here."

"I know. They feel like prey." Jergen took a deep breath. "But we know what to expect now. And once we find their kin, they can take over their care."

"And if we don't?"

"We'll take it one step at a time. Eyes on the prey —"

"— not the horizon." Askar grumbled and rolled his eyes. "Fine. They can stay for now as long as you watch over them. But any… incidents… and they both go elsewhere." He pointed at Jergen with his bottle. "And I want to know the instant the injured boy wakes."

"Of course, Askar."


End file.
